


The Bed He's Made

by valda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Choking, Corpse Desecration, Emperor Hux, Hux and Ren do not actually die but other major characters have died, Kylo Ren Redemption, Kylux Cantina, M/M, Masturbation, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: Emperor Armitage Hux meditates on his decision concerning the traitor Kylo Ren.





	The Bed He's Made

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Kylux Cantina](http://kyluxcantina.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr; originally posted [here](http://cosleia.tumblr.com/post/162881117693/the-bed-hes-made). Please see the end notes for detailed warnings.

Questioning the emperor was heretical. Advisers were free to offer their opinions whilst His Majesty was considering a problem, but once he’d made his decision, none were to stand against him. The fate for any who did was far worse than mere exile.

That was why, when the emperor announced the fate of Kylo Ren, no one in court said a word. Phasma stood stoic behind her chrome mask. Mitaka pressed his lips firmly together and clasped his hands behind his back. The great hall rang with the echo of Emperor Hux’s words, and then there was silence.

Armitage did not regret his no-tolerance policy against dissent, exactly. It just might have been nice for someone, anyone, to acknowledge what he was doing. To see it for what it was.

To reassure him that he was not being a fool.

He straightened minutely in his seat on the throne, willing his fingers not to dig into the armrests. He’d killed them all—everyone Kylo Ren had ever loved, everyone who’d been involved in his defection from the First Order. The scavenger. The first traitor. The pilot. The Wookiee. The alien who spoke in proverbs. The last Jedi. The Resistance general who was also Ren’s mother. All the rest of them. Everyone in the Resistance. He’d killed them all—his army had killed them all, and their heads had been brought to him one by one, and he’d had them stripped down to the bone. The more important heads became decoration, all but one mounted in a frame around the huge, arched door at the end of the hall; the rest were fashioned into fine gifts such as letter openers and bone-encrusted jewelry boxes.

Thanks to Armitage’s thorough scouring of the galaxy, his complete eradication of the vermin who’d tried to poison it, Ren had nowhere to go. There was no one to help him. He’d never get within planetary atmosphere of Armitage again, let alone close enough to exact any sort of revenge. To gaze at Armitage from across the room, for example, and kill him with a thought. Or to stand before him, to reach out and kill him with his own hands.

Armitage had left this proclamation for last; there was no more business to attend to. He’d told himself this was a kindness, that he’d planned it this way so that his court would not have to suffer through hours more before they could gossip about his decision. Now, though, it felt like cowardice as he announced, “That is all for today.”

He waited and watched as the crowd of courtiers, generals, advisers, and entertainers filed wordlessly toward the arched doorway. Only when they were finally gone did he rise from his throne. Sweeping his heavy cape behind him, he strode down the red-carpeted steps and turned toward the side passage that would lead him to his rooms, flanked by Phasma and the rest of his personal guard.

Upon arrival at his personal chamber, Armitage slipped through the door and closed it, leaving his retinue to stand guard outside. Then he was alone, for the first time since he’d awakened this morning.

Nights were the best, and the worst. His room felt cavernous, ceiling soaring high overhead, walls far enough apart that in low light he couldn’t even see them. It was utterly quiet; he had no complaints to hear, no petitions to consider, no flattery to pretend to appreciate. It should have been peaceful, and it was, it was—but beneath the peacefulness there was something else, something quiet but insistent, something that made his mind thrum and his heart pound.

Armitage hurriedly began divesting himself of his regalia, shrugging off the cape and working himself free of the rich robe and tunic beneath. Stripped to his undergarments, he lowered the lights, climbed into his large, empty bed and tunneled beneath the blankets.

Once he had positioned himself at the very center of the thick mattress, he turned automatically toward the nightstand, where the most important of his collection of skulls was set on display. “General Organa,” he greeted it with a curt nod. The skull sat silent, dead, vacant eyes staring. Armitage looked away, feeling vaguely hollow. He settled back into his generous pile of pillows, let out a deep sigh, and closed his eyes.

He lay there for some time in the not-quite-darkness, but despite the lateness of the hour, despite how long the day had been, despite how weary he felt, his blood sang in his veins, and his mind raced, and sleep would not come.

He lay there, fully awake, and thought of Ren.

“You did it,” Ren would say, stepping out of the shadows. He would have been waiting here for Armitage, biding his time until he had his former lover alone. “You did it,” he’d say. “You destroyed them all. You became emperor.”

Armitage would sit up, give him a long look. “I did,” he’d say, and Ren would move again, circling around to the side of the bed. “I have everything, now.”

“And you’ve left me with nothing,” Ren would say. Armitage wouldn’t move. Ren would climb up the bed, climb over him, nudge him back down into the pillows, straddle him. “You’re all I have left, aren’t you?”

“I’m all you need,” Armitage would tell him. “Everything else—everyone else—was holding you back. Now, you’re free. All thanks to me.”

“All thanks to you,” Ren would repeat. His face would be very close, dark eyes glimmering, breath hot against Armitage’s mouth. He’d lean in, trace Armitage’s lips with his tongue, and Armitage would open for him. Ren would shift, and Armitage would feel the evidence of his desire pressing against him through the blanket.

“I said I have everything,” Armitage would pant against Ren’s mouth, “but that’s not quite true. I don’t have you, do I?”

“You do,” Ren would say. “You let me go. You didn’t have me executed. I could have gone anywhere. I came to you. You have me. I’m yours.”

Armitage would be unable to hold back a moan at that. He was unable now, hand sliding down to brush his own stiff length. Ren would tear back the blanket, crawl down Armitage’s body, gaze up at him coquettishly as he laved from root to tip…

Armitage groaned, his free hand curling into a fist and slamming down onto the bed. Ren wouldn’t do that at all. He wouldn’t give himself to Armitage. He wouldn’t worship Armitage’s cock, work him open gently, fuck him deep and slow.

Jerking his cock frantically, Armitage let himself imagine what Ren would actually do.

He’d ignite his lightsaber, first. Maybe it would be his old crossguard saber with the spitting red blade, or maybe it’d be the new purple one he constructed after he betrayed the First Order. Armitage liked to think it’d be the red one, casting the royal chamber in a glow that recalled the beauty of Starkiller.

He’d ignite his saber and he’d use it, slashing everything: the walls, the floor, the bed. He’d step up onto the mattress and stand over Armitage, saber still drawn, face pinched in ugly rage. “You killed them all,” he’d say. “You took everything from me.”

“I did,” Armitage would say, gazing up at him, and Ren would lower his blade to Armitage’s throat, and Armitage wouldn’t move, wouldn’t flinch, would just stare at him, daring him.

Finally Ren would close down the saber and toss it aside. He’d drop to the bed to straddle Armitage, hands coming up to tighten around Armitage’s neck. “You thought I’d come crawling back to you, if you ‘pardoned’ me? You thought I’d forgive you?”

“No,” Armitage would choke. Would he be afraid? He’d never been afraid of Ren, had he? “I didn’t,” he’d say, but he wouldn’t fight.

“You want this?” Ren would ask, bearing down harder.

“I want—I want whatever you give me,” Armitage whispered, imagining he was croaking it out past a compressed throat. “Ren…”

Ren would be disgusted. He would look at Armitage with nothing but hatred in his eyes, lips twisted into a sneer. And then he’d do it. He’d collapse Armitage’s throat with a crushing squeeze of his big, strong hands. Armitage wouldn’t be able to help his mouth falling open as his body tried to gasp for air. He wouldn’t get any; Ren wouldn’t let him. He’d twitch and shake and see sparks behind his eyes, and his chest would burn, and his eyes would fill with tears—but he’d keep them open, gazing up at Ren as everything went slowly black.

Alone in his royal bedchamber, eyes clenched tightly shut, he could see Ren’s face. He could feel Ren’s presence, as if he were really here.

Armitage let out a choked cry. His hips jerked up off the bed as he spilled hard over his hand. He shuddered, mercilessly pumping his dick until the pain of overstimulation was too much.

Then, trembling and gasping for breath, he opened his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> _Content warnings (SPOILERS): Hux has had everyone in the Resistance killed, and he has collected their skulls. Hux imagines (and gets off on the idea of) Kylo choking him to death in retribution. The story is left open-ended, such that there is the possibility Kylo will actually kill Hux someday._


End file.
